This was the kind of riding we were expecting, and it was just fine. Weather was sunny, about 20 (it was 13 when we got up). So pretty good cycling weather, and we made good time (for us). A stop at the turn-off to Thessalon, a stop at the Little Rapids General Store, and on to Iron Bridge for lunch. This one was not provided, and we had a choice of three restaurants. Most of us plunked for the Chines Food place, and there were about 100 bikes parked outside. I felt sorry for the folks woring the restaurant. The business was good for them, but they were run ragged. William and I sat with one of the volunteers, Russ, and he talked almost non-top about his past and the connection with the ride.
After this we took our long ride along the Trans-Canada Highway (Hwy. 17), almost 23 km from Iron Bridge to Blind River. As advertised, the shoulders were wide (8-9 feet), well-paved, and separated from the hihghway by two white lines and a rumble strip. This did not entirely eradicate the terror when a large lumber truck when rumbling by us, but we made it, travelling along the Mississagi River. Once again, my prejudices were challenged: this was a wide and slow river, not the type of northern river I had thought it would be (rapids, rocks, trees, etc.). And we had a tail wind into Blind River, so the trip went well. We had biked 87 km. We arrived in good time at the Blind River Marina, and William and I set up our tent in the wind, and we went off for a welcome shower in the marina—a lovely experience. The marina was wonderful: I placed our tent on the front lawn, in the middle of the horseshoe pitch. Perfect. You can see that there were pretty close campsites. Blind River was a big community—3,400 people!
We had yet another wonderful supper, provided by the town at the Blind River Community Centre. And this was followed by a Water Ceremony at the Marine Park, conducted by the women of the Mississauga First Nations, giving special thanks to the water, and also passing around a bowl of fresh strawberris! It was moving, as well as delicious.
I met one of the physicians from the area (whose land we were on), who was a Mac grad and recently retired. Nice man, who I hope to see again if he comes south. (Nick Jeeves, I think)
Again, the next morning, we were up at 6, had breakfast at the Community Centre (again, wonderful), and set off for our longest day (up to 115 km). And we had a fair bit of gravel to contend with as well. It would be a challenge. But we were hopeful. The trail headed along the Huron Shore, before heading inland around the Serpent River First Nation. But saying it like that doesn’t tell you how difficult it was. The first bit after we left the town was on a gravel trail beside Hwy 17. The gravel had been laid some time before, and had been repaired in spots. In fact, they were working on it as we went by. Some of it was loose, and some of it was soft sand. We had to walk some of the way, which was not a problem. But I hit some soft gravel and fell off the bike into (fortunately) some soft plants on the side of the trail. A few scratches, and a damaged pride, but otherwise okay. And off again, for about six or seven kilometres altogether. It was a tough way to start the day. And it was more hilly than other sections. Both William and I were pretty btired by ten in the morning, and it was pretty clear we were not going to go the entire distance. We made it to Spanish (the place we had visited on the bus on our way north), and stopped at Nibbles Fish and Chips for a meal of walleye and chips. An hour in the heat, eating chips and drinking some water, before getting going again. More gravel, some of it really just sand; more walking our bikes due to construction. And of course, some of the cyclists couldn't resist complaining that they should have postponed the construction until after we went through. Goes to prove that cyclists are like other people, just on two wheels.
After Spanish, we were bushed. It was hotter than the day before, and I had run through most of my water. Snacks helped, but I was feeling dehydrated. Some pavement, then another patch of gravel. And then—a tribute to the organization of this group—we turned a corner and there was a truck with water! And snacks! And the water was cold! And the snacks included Ju-jubes! (I have a totally new respect for Ju-jubes now.) It was like a miracle, and what a relief. With renewed energy, we set off up the Spanish River to the small town of Massey. It took us over an hour, and it was tiring. We were glad to see the water station and the bus waiting for us. We felt no shame in asking for a ride to go from Massey to Espanola. One of our trio—Jim—did the whole 115 km.
Set-up was on the field of a community centre, including on a football field. The centre itself was wonderful, with a hockey arena, swimming pool, gym, showers, and so on. We were pretty much too tired to do much with it, but nice to know it was there.
We were on our own for supper. No community meal this time. Five of us walked into town (about half a kilometre) to an Italian restaurant, where we were well-fed, and fully-fed. A great time was had by all. Again, the place was almost overwhelmed with all the business, but handled it well and with grace. One of the good feelings I have remaining from the trip is the warmth and welcoming attitude of the small places along the route. And Espanola was no different.
We ended the day with a campfir and sing-song, before hitting the sack for our final sleep in the tent.
We had biked 83 km to Massey from Blind River. Almost there, to Sudbury.
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